Never too old

Moreover, in his old age he [Socrates] learnt to play the lyre, declaring that he saw no absurdity in learning a new accomplishment.
--Diogenes Laertius

[T]here on one of the benches sat a man who, being about forty-five with a grizzled beard, looked certainly rather old to be studying the first thing children learn. ... I  ... asked why an old man like him wanted to come to school.  He replied ... that it was much more disgraceful for an old man not to learn what could make him better, than for boys, since he had had time to know the worth of it....
--Mary Renault, The Last of the Wine

In her excellent novel of life in ancient Athens, Mary Renault fleshes out the historical account of how Socrates, as an "old man" (45?), joined a class of young children who were learning to play the lyre.

I'm not Socrates.  But I get the point.  Unlike Socrates with his lyre, I did have a chance to continue piano lessons as a teenager, when it would have come more easily.  And once past my teens, I've always felt that even a modest level of musical accomplishment on that instrument would somehow make me "better." Therefore, it would be "disgraceful" to refuse to do so, out of misplaced embarrassment. Right?

And embarrassment there will be, come Saturday, when -- for the second time in six months -- I sit at the piano and show off my "talent" at my teacher's semi-annual recital program.  I do feel like Socrates, sitting in a music class surrounded by elementary school students. Embarrassed just because of the difference in age, and embarrassed because I'm showing off accomplishments that most kids -- those, at least, at all interested themselves in piano -- would have mastered by their early teens.

But I will try to imitate Socrates's philosophical bent of mind.  Maybe my fumbling attempts will plant seeds of inspiration in the minds of my fellow pianists, showing them that you're never too old.  Perhaps a parent or two will be inspired to take up an instrument of his own, so he and child can play duets.

I will play Chopin's Nocturne in F minor, one of the easier Chopin nocturnes.  I still fumble over various portions of it, but my teacheer assures me I'll do just fine.  She reminds me that I'm not playing in front of music critics -- just parents of young pianists.  And she insists that I play with very good musicality, which she further insists is more important than technical accuracy.

Since the recital has more of an impact on her reputation as a teacher than it does on my chances of winning a scholarship to Julliard, I'll trust in her assurances.  I'll proceed to Saturday with attempted equanimity.  I've taken five-day lawsuits to trial with less preparation.  Surely, I can get through a five-minute nocturne?

Examples might be given of men who have applied themselves at an advanced period of life to an art or science of which they had no previous knowledge. Solon used to say that he learnt something new every day. Old as I am, it is only lately that I took up the study of Greek, and you will remember that Socrates learned to play the lyre when he was past middle life.

--Cicero, On Friendship and Old Age.

There you go.  Socrates again.  An inspiration to all of us who find ourselves past the first blush of youth.  I do know the worth of my piano studies.  Saturday night, I embrace you!